


Long-Range Shooter

by whiskeyandspite



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Party, Pre-ship, Teasing, Word Play, innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: “You’ve got me curious, now, Mr Chandler?”
  “Do I, Mr Lyle?”  “Of what other matters I could loosen your tongue on, if the right offer were made.” Mr. Lyle considers himself bad at flirting. Ethan considers him a terrible flirt.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aquielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquielle/gifts).



> For Khara. She owns this ship with me. I could not be happier with such a co-captain XD
> 
> Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Watching Ferdinand Lyle entertain was as eventful as watching Sir Malcolm avoid doing so.

It was to his credit, as much as to his merit, that the man did so at all. His wife - though Vanessa hadn’t ever met her - relished always having a full house, and Mr Lyle seemed to genuinely enjoy the same. There were enough people to mingle with, enough people to hide behind if conversations got difficult, enough people to keep his friends from being the center of attention, though they would all warrant it in this society.

“I daresay that several more bottles of wine would hardly put even a dent in the budget for the evening,” Mr Lyle was saying, the belly of his glass balanced carefully against two fingers, catching against his palm and fingertips if it tilted. “We’ve barely even made headway on the canapes and there’s dinner yet. What kind of a host would I be if I so neglected my guests?”

“Your capability as a host was never called into question, Mr Lyle,” Vanessa smiled, her own glass held a little more carefully with both her hands. “I rather enjoy your parties.”

“Bless you, my dear,” he sighed. “You are the only one who comes, now, when the invitations are sent.”

“Please don’t take it to heart,” she assured him. “We keep a strange company, you and I. Once in awhile I can tear one of them away and bring them here, remind them that beyond the shadows lie places they actually want to visit.”

The gentle jest was enough to soothe his worry, and Lyle took another sip of his drink. It was a summer wine, entirely inappropriate for such an affair as a winter dinner, but he was hardly one to care. He enjoyed the taste, the rest was show, as it always was. Few people entered this house without an expectation. Those that ever did were those Ferdinand actually wanted to see.

“So which poor sod have you managed to convince to join us for the evening, then, Miss Ives?”

Vanessa merely hummed, eyes narrowed in her pleasure as she cast them around the corner of the alcove they had chosen to hide within. The door was within view, a butler ready to greet guests coming up the snowy stairs beyond.

“I shan’t reveal him until he reveals himself,” she said. “But I’ve never known him to break a promise to me to join me at an event.”

“Even one such as this?”

“Especially one such as this,” Vanessa emphasized, leaning a little nearer. “Much as most of them will claim to quite detest good company, few of them ever turn down an invitation unless a genuine issue holds them back from attending. He will be here.”

“It’s not the doctor?” Lyle asked her, though his eyes were far more hopeful than his tone suggested. “Lovely man, absolutely lovely, but incredibly difficult to hold a conversation with unless it involves cadavers and disembowelment. I daresay he could use more outings with you, my dear, to learn your cleverness and to get him up to par with dealing with the air-headed drove that comes through those doors.”

“No, our Doctor Frankenstein had house calls to make this evening. Would not put them off no matter how I begged him to.”

“Well, I’m sure his patients appreciate your attempts,” Lyle shrugged, sharing a secret smile with his friend as she turned back towards the door again, a hand up to touch softly against the velvet collar she wore. In truth, had Lyle any inclination towards the female form, Vanessa Ives would have immediately caught his mind and his heart in equal measure.

He didn’t try to convince himself that he would even register for her as a suitor, considering the others who had similarly found her fascinating.

He was nothing compared to the charming Ethan Chandler, after all.

But being her companion, he had found, had had its rewards. There were few he could speak with as plainly and as earnestly as Vanessa, and few who would hold his hand after such an evening, and not see him as his flaws, only offer to make him tea. She was a remarkable woman, and a very welcome friend.

“Not Sir Malcolm?”

“Even my charms would not pull him from his study, I’m afraid Mr Lyle,” Vanessa sighed. Ferdinand couldn’t honestly say he minded. The man was difficult, though entirely to the standard of the guests this house often hosted. Perhaps he hadn’t yet found a point on which to hang an olive branch between them.

If Sir Malcolm wasn’t coming, then his stern silent friend would not be, either. That left very few people with whom Vanessa held company, and who would be considered worthy of an invitation to Lyle’s home. He held his breath and didn’t offer another guess, though the name hung between them unsaid like a cloud of aromatic smoke regardless.

And then there he was, a moment later, catching himself on a brief stumble on the top step before the door, and removing his hat to duck his head to the butler. Always so charming. Always so polite, despite his terrible upbringing and horrid twang of an accent.

“Ah,” Vanessa smiled, setting her glass to a nearby tray, and giving Mr Lyle a pleased look before making her way over. “Mr Chandler.”

Lyle could only watch a moment, the ease with which the two greeted each other, the ease with which Vanessa slipped her arm through Ethan’s after he had kissed her hand and led him through from the lobby. He watched and finished his wine, and immediately wished for another, as Ethan’s smile found him next, and widened.

“Mr Lyle. You’ve quite the gathering, I see?”

“Dull, my dear, awfully dull.” Was all he could manage, waving a hand towards an attendant to have him bring them all another drink. “I hardly know why I host these parties. The people I wish to see at them never arrive on time, if they do at all.”

“I’ll have to find a way to make up for my tardiness,” Ethan said, and Lyle damn near dropped the glasses that were passed to him.

“Yes you will, terrible thing. But for the moment I’ll absolve you. It’s hardly that kind of party.”

“What a pity,”

Vanessa allowed Lyle his moment of bright embarrassment before slipping her hand free of Ethan’s and bending to kiss their host’s cheek.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr Lyle. You’ve yet another display in your parlour that I’ve not seen. I would never do a work of art such disservice.” With a wink and a beautifully raised brow, she stepped away, leaving the two of them - Ferdinand and Ethan, Lyle and Chandler - to occupy the alcove alone. 

Alone. With no other bodies between them, no other voices to interrupt them.

“Good lord,” Lyle muttered. “What have they put in the wine?”

“Most likely nothing that doesn’t belong there,” Ethan responded, taking a deliberate sip of his own and humming at the taste. “Too often you find, in London, that it’s diluted with something revoltingly sour when it’s sold on the street.”

“My dear, I’d rather you didn’t drink anything from the street,” Lyle clucked. “You don’t know where it’s been.”

With a snort, Ethan took another sip, licking his lips as he set the glass down against his belly, cradling it with one hand. He considered the party long enough to be seen as polite, before turning his attention to the host once more. Two heads taller than Lyle, and dressed far more modestly than the man, he was still entirely too beautiful to not draw glances from the ladies in the hall. Some gentlemen, too. Lyle could crush his damned glass for it, if he had the strength.

“You’ve acquired a new cravat.” He said instead.

“Borrowed,” Ethan acknowledged, smile bright. “I wasn’t sure it was quite my color to purchase on my own.”

“Gaudy,” Lyle agreed. “Far too bright. Your complexion, though exceptional, hardly suits it. I’ll find you another.”

“You needn’t.”

“My dear, one cannot walk about the city as a pheasant when one is a peacock. It is simply unbecoming.”

Ethan’s smile could light up the whole bloody room. Without a word, he reached for the cravat and pulled it free of his neck, tucking the offending fabric into his pocket instead. He was far too lovely, even in indulging an old man when he needn’t. But never once had Ferdinand felt the cloying sensation of pity from him, though he did warrant it often. Never once did he feel disgust from Ethan, only mutual amusement and enjoyment of the company.

He’d offered to teach him how to shoot, for God’s sake, and both of them knew it had nothing to do with the lovely sidearms Mr Chandler carried everywhere.

“Another drink?”

“Only if you insist,” Ethan replied, bringing his glass to his lips to empty it. “I’ve some catching up to do.”

“And mingling. Surely you didn’t come here to spend time with a pedantic old man.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for his invitation,” Ethan pointed out, eyes narrowed in delight. “And Miss Ives’ insistence I finally take it up like a man, and dress for the occasion.”

“Perhaps the smell of mothballs will drive the more olfactorily gifted away, if you came near enough,” Lyle agreed, finding that if he wasn’t talking, he was brooding, and brooding did terrible things for one’s appetite and demeanor. “Have you a tailor, Mr Chandler?”

“ _Have_ I a tailor, Mr Lyle?”

“It is inconceivable to me that Miss Ives hasn’t taken you to see one. Too busy, perhaps. No matter. Time can be found, Mr Chandler, when one truly looks for it.”

“Of that I’m certain,” Ethan agreed, taking the glass that was passed to him, a small plate with food far too beautifully displayed to be eaten, alongside. “If one claims they haven’t time, they merely haven’t time for you.”

“Someone like you should not be so wise to such cruelties, my boy,” Lyle told him, allowing himself an uninterrupted look up and down the other’s form as Ethan attempted to juggle his caviar and wine. “You’re far too handsome, and far too young.”

“And you, sir, far too charming to be so familiar with them yourself,” Ethan pointed out, tilting his head to emphasize his point before finally managing a piece of food into his mouth. “You are far more clever than the company you invite here for show,” he added after a moment.

“Mr Chandler,” Lyle couldn’t even bring himself to feign surprise. “It is one thing to insult my guests, with perfectly good reason, and quite another to mean it and be entirely correct.”

“It’s for the tailor, I assure you,” Ethan grinned. “I’m hardly ever truthful on important matters until clothes are involved.”

“Bespoke clothes.”

“Bespoke clothes.”

“You’ve got me curious, now, Mr Chandler?”

“Do I, Mr Lyle?”

“Of what other matters I could loosen your tongue on, if the right offer were made.”

Hell.

Hell and damn.

And there, that moment of impending horror that had been hanging over Ferdinand Lyle all evening. That moment that inevitably ruined everything.

“Diamond-plated guns, I’m sure, would cause quite a stir.”

Everything. Every bloody thing.

“I’m very glad you didn’t suggest they be gold,” Ethan replied, shrugging. “The handles would dent rather quickly. Though silver could be quite effective on the evenings I find myself busy with my more unusual hobbies.”

“Well it’s all in the name of efficiency isn’t it, Mr Chandler, hardly just for show.”

A flicker of something mischievous, but no comment from the younger. It was clearly the merciful moment for Ferdinand to take his leave, allowed by a man far too gracious for his own good.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr Chandler.”

“Mr Lyle, please. Ferdinand,” Ethan bent to set his plate and glass to the floor, where they would inevitably be trampled and Lyle would inevitably not care. “I’ve no desire to drive you away. Unless you truly need to get back to your guests.”

They both knew he didn’t need to get back to his guests.

“I’m more curious to know how you would go about finding a stonemason to work such strong material into a gun handle.”

“Mr Chandler. You do me a disservice assuming I haven’t associates in that industry.”

“In truth, Mr Lyle, I assume you have associates in every industry, both above board and below it,” Ethan grinned. When Ferdinand made no motion to continue further out of the alcove, Ethan stepped nearer instead.

“I think you have a terrible habit of overestimating people,” Lyle told him, a brief smile before he hid it in the rim of his glass. Ethan kept watching him.

“I’ve underestimated far too many, in the past.” He replied. “Once bitten, twice shy.”

“I believe that is the most blatant lie you’ve yet told me, Mr Chandler,” Lyle said. “That you’re shy.”

“I am in situations where subtle nuances are more effective than the American method.” Ethan smiled wider, teeth white, two just a little pointed at the ends. “When shooting first leads to terrible disappointment.”

“You’re very effective at a quick draw.”

“I rarely display the skill,” Ethan said, cocking his hip and slipping his thumbs into the corners of his pockets. “But I’m rather adept at long range work, and enjoy it far more. Quick draws are for show, really, Mr Lyle, an effective way to get attention one doesn’t want to hold for long. But the preparation, the deliberation, the patience it takes to set up a long range shot…”

Neither breathed for a moment, the hum of people around them buzzing down to a white noise that neither paid mind to. Neither moved.

Lyle exhaled first.

“Well.”

Ethan’s bottom lip found its way between his teeth and he hummed his response lowly, just loud enough to hear. 

Surely it had been long enough now, with their glances across the room, and the teasing banter that always left Lyle feeling warm and unable to stop smiling. Surely it had been enough push and testing of the waters to just -

“I was always a long-range man myself,” he said finally, considering his glass and choosing to set it aside, down beside Ethan’s. “I’ve quite a collection of equipment to enhance anything from firing capacity to aim, upstairs.”

“I would have been shocked if you had not,” Ethan told him, his cheeks warming, eyes narrowing and brightening all at once at the prospect.

“I was quite apt at the skill myself, in my youth, if you’d believe.”

“I would certainly believe.”

“Mr Chandler.”

Ethan’s brows immediately rose and he regarded the man before him with an expression of utter fondness.

“Sir?” he allowed after a moment; deliberately, Ferdinand was certain.

“Upstairs with you. Such things need quiet and intense concentration that this company will not allow for.”

“Would you like time to bid your guests apology for your absence?”

“The hostess can do it on my behalf. She’s perhaps the only one who would notice it at all. Oh, and Miss Ives, of course, the dear.”

“And she, I think, would be the last person to scold you for your leave-taking.” Ethan pointed out, pushing forward from the wall and stepping so so near Lyle before turning to lead the way towards the vast staircase in the foyer.

She would indeed, Lyle allowed, taking a moment only to adjust his presentation before following Mr Chandler out of the reception hall. She would quite praise him the courage.

**Author's Note:**

> I have discounted commission prices over on my Patreon! All the way up through to 2017!


End file.
